


Beary Best Friends

by Laur



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bear!John, Eventual Johnlock, Fluff, Gen, Kidlock, M/M, Magical Realism, Some angst, Stuffed Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 10:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2226258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laur/pseuds/Laur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock is five and Mycroft is eleven, Mycroft gives his little brother a stuffed bear toy with soft, golden fur and navy bead eyes.</p><p>"That bear," Mycroft says conspiratorially, "is no ordinary toy. This bear," Mycroft gently takes the plush toy and places it against Sherlock's narrow chest and the younger boy's arms wrap around it automatically, "when you need him most, will come to life."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Sherlock is five and Mycroft is eleven, Mycroft gives his little brother a stuffed bear toy with soft, golden fur and navy bead eyes.

"To keep you company," Mycroft explains, "while I'm at boarding school."

Sherlock pouts angrily, even as he accepts the toy. "I don't want a stupid bear," he exclaims, strangely articulate for his age. "Don't leave, Mycroft." Sherlock's pale eyes are wide under his curly mop of dark hair and his plump bottom lip trembles noticeably.

Mycroft kneels down so he's face to face with his little brother. "I have to, Sherlock. It's school." Mycroft rolls his eyes then. "Though I doubt I'll actually learn anything useful."

"Then don't go!" Sherlock offers, the only logical conclusion.

"Don't be ridiculous. Besides, you'll be going to school in the autumn, too." Mycroft's secondary school starts classes August first instead of in September like his old primary school. Sherlock still has a month of summer left to pass without his older brother. "You can share your adventures with your bear."

Sherlock's small face crumples into a scowl and he crosses his arms defiantly, though keeps his grip on the bear, which dangles from his right fist. "Not the same," he mumbles, eyes downcast.

Mycroft sighs at Sherlock's dramatics and touches his shoulder, re-establishing eye contact when Sherlock looks up. "Do you want to know a secret?"

Sherlock's eyes widen as he nods.

Mycroft leans in slightly, prompting Sherlock to do the same. "That bear," Mycroft begins conspiratorially, "is no ordinary toy. This bear," Mycroft gently takes the plush toy and places it against Sherlock's narrow chest and the younger boy's arms wrap around it automatically, "when you need him most, will come to life."

Sherlock looks at his older brother in awe for a moment before suspicion clouds his eyes. "You're lying."

Myrcoft smiles. "Am I?"

Ice-blue eyes narrow. "That would be magic and there's no such thing. You said so."

"Do I look like I'm lying? What do you observe, Sherlock?"

Sherlock shakes his head, unsure.

Mycroft raises his eyebrows. "Well, I suppose you'll just have to wait and see." With that, the eleven-year-old goes back to packing and the five-year-old goes back to sulking in his room.

That night, after Mycroft's gone and Sherlock's been tucked into bed, the bear tucked in next to him, Sherlock studies the tan and beige synthetic fur, dark blue bead-eyes and soft muzzle of his new companion. So far, the plush toy has proven to be none other than an ordinary, boring plush toy.

"You need a name," Sherlock decides, pulling the bear closer. After several moments of contemplation, he whispers into the bear’s ear: "John. Boring, just like you." Sherlock turns his back on the toy then, snuggling deeper under the covers and ignoring the wetness that overflows when he closes his eyes. As he's falling asleep, he thinks he feels something soft and fuzzy, like a miniature paw, nudging him in the back, but he's too tired to turn around and investigate. 

 

"I'm going outside to do some gardening," Mummy says as she's cleaning up the dishes after breakfast. Dad's already left for work so Sherlock knows she's talking to him, but he's still confused. Why should he care?

"You should come get some sun with me," she continues. "Some fresh air."

Sherlock slouches in his seat. "Boring," he mutters.

"You could bring your new bear out with you!" Mummy offers enthusiastically as she places the final dish in the dishwasher.

Sherlock pushes his jaw out stubbornly. "No. John's boring, too."

"John? Did you name him that?"

Slouching lower, Sherlock says nothing.

"John does sound rather plain," Mummy muses as she turns on the dishwasher. "Perhaps it would be best if you didn’t take him outside. I don't think you should get him dirty. In fact, you should stay inside, too. Find a good book to read..."

Sherlock's combative nature rears its head at that. "No!" he exclaims, sitting up straight. "I can go outside whenever I want! And I'll take John, too, if I want to."

Mummy raises her eyebrows at him. "I don't know, Sherlock. Can boring John really handle it?"

"John's not boring, he's mine!" Sherlock slides off his chair and runs to his room to grab the bear off of his bed. When he reaches the door leading to the back garden, Mummy and his shoes are waiting for him.

"Just don't go too far, alright, Sherlock? I'm serious," she says sternly.

"Yes, fine," Sherlock agrees quickly and dashes off, one of John's arms held securely in his little fist.

The Holmes property is grand and slightly isolated, backing onto what seems like a forest to Sherlock and surrounded on all sides by trees and diverse plants. Private and mysterious, it offers much to the imagination of young children, Mycroft and Sherlock included. In fact, with their keen eyes and sharp minds, the Holmes brothers created entire worlds during their play, imaginations running wild with the winding branches and reaching shadows, the colourful flowers and buzzing bees. Now, Sherlock heads straight for _his_ tree, the one ten steps past the rose bush and with the skull-shaped whirl on the trunk. At the beginning of summer, Mycroft scratched an X over the whirl with Dad's penknife to make it look more like a skull with crossbones. Mycroft's tree is the one next to Sherlock's, the one with the mushrooms that Mycroft likes to study growing around the bottom. (Sherlock's tree is cooler, because when Sherlock climbs it, he can pretend it's his pirate ship).

When Sherlock reaches his tree, he dumps John on the ground and grabs the lowest branch to pull himself up with practiced ease. He used to need help, but he's stronger now and is able to slip his foot into the little wedge near the base to push himself onto the second lowest branch. From there it's easy to climb to his lookout perch, where, if he stands in just the right spot, he can see through the leaves of the surrounding trees to his house. Sherlock grins triumphantly, but there's no one for him to brag to. Looking down, the stuffed bear looks rather lonely on the ground, tipped over so its head is near a patch of dirt. Sherlock sighs and sits in the vee of two branches and watches an ant crawl over the ridges of the bark. _Ants can lift over one thousand times their own weight_ , he'd say if Mycroft were here. Turning his head at a loud buzzing, Sherlock scratches his nose as he observes a fat bee bumbling between the leaves to his right. _A bee's wings beat around two hundred times per second _, he'd say if Mycroft were here. Sighing again, Sherlock looks back at John.__

__"Fine," he says in exasperation, drawing out the word. "You can play Pirates with me, but I'm the captain, alright?"_ _

__Gripping a branch with each hand, Sherlock eases himself onto a lower branch. Getting down is always more complicated than getting up. Turning, he reaches for the second lowest branch with his right foot. It bends a bit with his weight, but once he's stable, he reaches for the lowest branch with his left foot. Suddenly, the limb he's gripping with his right hand snaps. Sherlock gasps as he loses his balance and his left foot slips. With the sudden jerk, the already flimsy branch under his right foot bends more and Sherlock flails as he feels himself beginning to fall. His right hand makes contact with a tree limb and he grabs it reflexively, hissing when he feels something sharp pierce the skin of his palm. He grabs the limb with his other hand, pulls himself to a more stable branch and sits there, breathing hard. It feels like his heart is going to explode out of his chest and his hand is stinging._ _

__He presses his lips together to hold back a whimper when he sees the twig sticking out of his palm. He scowls as tears fill his eyes - he's too old to cry! But when he tries to pull out the twig, he flinches and can't stop his whimper of pain. It's in deep. Deeper even than the splinter he'd gotten from the old plank of wood he and Mycroft found that one time. And he needed tweezers for that!_ _

__Sherlock is distracted from his wound by the sound of a strange moaning cry. Looking down, he's shocked to see what looks like a puppy scratching at the base of the tree. The puppy has golden fur and a stub of a tail and when it looks up at Sherlock, he can see that its eyes are a deep navy blue. Sherlock looks on the ground for his stuffed bear, but can't find him anywhere. Looking back at the puppy, Sherlock can't help but see the similarities._ _

__"John?" he asks in disbelief. At his voice, the puppy moans again. It gets a good grip in the bark then and it starts a slow climb up the trunk. Sherlock takes in the sharp claws on its front and hind paws. "Dogs don't climb," he muses._ _

When the puppy reaches the branch on which Sherlock is seated, it plops itself down next to him. Sherlock notices the five claws per paw instead of four, the rounded ears and the deep, blue eyes. "John," he says again, not a question this time. _Mycroft was right!_ he thinks. The bear, _his_ bear, not at all boring or plain, tries to nuzzle at Sherlock's stinging hand. Cautious of teeth, Sherlock pulls away, but freezes when John makes a strange snorting sound. It's not a growl, but is undeniably threatening. John nuzzles insistently at his sore hand, prompting the boy to show the cub his wound. Slowly, Sherlock flips his hand to show the protruding twig. John huffs at it and Sherlock jerks when he feels a rough tongue swipe at it. He hisses in pain but goes still again when John nips at his fingers, his sharp canines pressing gently into the boy's flesh. When Sherlock doesn't pull away again, John proceeds to lick and nibble at the twig and after a brief, painful moment, the cub pulls it free. Sherlock sighs in relief even as he sniffles against tears. 

__The boy studies the red and swollen puncture wound and feels something warm and fuzzy pushing against his side. John is head-butting him insistently, trying to get Sherlock to move._ _

__"I don't want to go," the boy disagrees. "We can still play Pirates."_ _

__But John keeps pushing, making little grunting noises until Sherlock sighs. "Fine, I'll tell Mummy and then we'll come back out."_ _

__The climb down is more difficult now, as Sherlock can only use the fingers of his right hand in order to avoid rubbing his injury against the rough bark, but he's not a baby, so he manages without crying and without making any noise. John climbs down more slowly until Sherlock loses patience and simply grabs the cub to place him on the ground. John's fur is coarser like this, realistic instead of synthetic. Sherlock runs back to his house and the cub follows, scrambling through underbrush to keep up._ _

__"Mummy!" Sherlock calls as he approaches._ _

__She stands up at her son's call, wiping dirt from her trousers. "Sherlock, back already?"_ _

__"Mummy, I got a twig stuck in my hand, but I got it out and John is making me tell you," Sherlock blurted._ _

__"Oh, love, let me take a look." She takes her son's small hand and peers at the slowly weeping puncture wound. "You got this out all by yourself? That's very brave of you."_ _

__Sherlock wrinkles his nose. "Well, John helped, actually," he admits._ _

__"Did he now? Well then John's very brave, too. How did your toy help?" she asks, leading Sherlock into the house._ _

__"John's not a toy," Sherlock protests. "He's -" he cuts off as he looks back at where his bear is lying on the ground, limbs asprawl and boneless, like a puppet with its strings cut. "But -"_ _

__"Let's get this washed and bandaged, hm?"_ _

__Once his wound is washed, treated and bandaged, Sherlock runs back into the yard to grab his stuffed bear. "John!" he whispers fiercely into his ear, hoping to bring him back to life._ _

__Sherlock returns to his tree to play Pirates, talking to John and tugging him along, but nothing he does brings the cub back to life. After half an hour, Sherlock gets bored and trudges back home, the toy dangling from his fist. No matter how good the boy’s imagination, it’s not as good as the real thing._ _

__

__For the next several days, Sherlock tries various experiments to bring John back to life. He tries enticing the cub with food, stroking his fur, talking to him, throwing him into the air, tickling him and, as a last resort, poking him in the side until Sherlock worries John can feel it even if he isn't reacting, so the boy stops._ _

__It's the third day when Sherlock sits at the base of his tree and sulks, John lying in the dirt next to him. Let him get dirty, Sherlock thinks. He's no fun anyway. Sherlock doesn't even want to play Pirates - with the branch broken, he can't reach his lookout spot and he can't climb nearly as high. He scowls. He's going to have to find a new tree now, too._ _

__"Stupid Mycroft," he mutters, because blaming his older brother for things is practically automatic. It's Mycroft's fault that Sherlock's alone with only his stupid bear for company._ _

__In the corner of his eye, John stirs. Sherlock whirls, watching with excitement as his bear seems to become more firm, a spine straightening his back, blood giving him warmth and life brightening his eyes. John huffs as he shakes himself and sits at Sherlock's side._ _

__"John!" the boy exclaims angrily. "What took you so long?"_ _

__The cub simply tilts his head and blinks._ _

__"It's been terribly dull without you," Sherlock admits. "I tried to wake you up, but nothing worked."_ _

__John turns away from him and starts digging his claws into the tree bark._ _

__Sherlock furrows his brow in irritation. "There's no point. That tree's boring now. We need to find a new one."_ _

__John plops back down and jumps into the boy's lap, making bawling noises and pushing him playfully. Sherlock laughs despite himself when the cub places his paws on Sherlock's shoulders and nudges the boy's face with his furry forehead._ _

__"Yes, alright, you can help me."_ _

__John jumps off of the boy and stumbles away, endearingly clumsy, and Sherlock quickly gets up to follow. As they search, Sherlock tells John what to look for, the perfect height, branch arrangement and leaf amount for a Pirate tree. When they finally find one that is satisfactory, Sherlock despairs the lack of a penknife._ _

__"It needs a mark," the boy explains. "To show that it's ours."_ _

__John trots over to the tree and rises on his hind legs to place his front paws on the bark. With his sharp claws, he scratches the hard rind, making a clear X of intersecting scratches. He then proceeds to pull himself up the tree and Sherlock laughs at how perfect it is before gripping a branch and pulling himself up too._ _

__They play Pirates until John apparently gets hungry, when he ignores Captain Sherlock's orders and begins licking insects out of the tree's crevices instead. When the boy realizes what the cub is doing, he watches in amazement as John catches a scurrying beetle with his tongue and proceeds to crunch it with his molars._ _

__When they get bored of playing in the tree, they carefully climb down. As they walk home, John is distracted by a white butterfly and chases after it. Sherlock, attempting to show off, tries to grab it when it's too high for John to reach and ends up tripping instead. John jumps on top of him which incites a fierce wrestling match until Sherlock's mother calls him for dinner. Laughing and dirty, Sherlock carries John home, picking leaves and twigs out of his fur as he goes._ _

__After dinner, Sherlock sneaks a piece of chicken to John before he's forced to take a bath. That night, Sherlock sleeps with John's warmth snuggled into his side._ _

__The next morning, John's a toy again and Sherlock fights back tears of frustration. Mycroft said that the bear would come to life when Sherlock needs him most, but as far as Sherlock’s concerned, he needs John all the time. He doesn’t understand why John can’t just be alive permanently._ _

__

__Sherlock reads, and studies bears instead of bees, and goes to the supermarket with his Dad where he makes a woman cry when he asks her why she wears a wig when it's clearly so uncomfortable, and everywhere he goes he brings John. He keeps hoping that something will trigger the cub to twitch into life again, become the companion Sherlock needs._ _

__Sherlock's sitting in the shade of a tree one day as Mummy sits on a bench with some lady and talks. They came here so Sherlock would play on the play-structure with the other kids while the adults had a 'chat', but everyone was incredibly dumb and kept trying to pet John like he was a dog. So Sherlock took John to sit in the shade and glare at anyone that tried to approach. As they sit there, a huge black dog suddenly comes charging in their direction, a boy older than Sherlock chasing after it. A jolt of fear shoots through Sherlock when he sees the sharp teeth of the snarling beast, and next to him, John jerks into awareness._ _

__The cub stands up and takes a defensive position in front of Sherlock, a high, angry snort issuing from his throat. The dog stops short and growls, baring its teeth and lowering into an aggressive crouch. John makes a huffing sound and keeps his ground. Sherlock should back up, put distance between him and the dog, but the dog's owner is still far away and Sherlock doesn't want to leave John._ _

__The dog lunges, grabbing the small cub in its jaws and shaking his head from side to side. John makes a distressed bawling sound (like the cub stuck in a tree that Sherlock saw on the television documentary the other day) before going silent._ _

__"No! Stop!" Sherlock shrieks._ _

__The dog's owner reaches them then, the older boy grabbing the beast's collar and jerking it back roughly, yelling at it to sit. When the boy gives another sharp command, the dog finally releases John and backs off, going docile under its master's hand._ _

__Sherlock grabs John as Mummy runs up to him._ _

__"Sherlock! Are you alright?" she demands, but he ignores her, looking over John. "What's your name?" she demands of the older boy still holding his dog. "And where are your parents?"_ _

__"I-I'm Victor," the boy stammers. "I was just taking Bolt for a walk and he just ran off all of a sudden..."_ _

__"What's your phone number? I'd like to speak with your parents."_ _

__John is limp under Sherlock's hands, turned back into a doll out of self-defense most likely. Sherlock gasps when he sees the tear in the cub's seams, the front left leg almost completely torn off, stuffing leaking out of the gaping hole._ _

__"Mummy!" he sobs, getting her attention and showing her the damage._ _

__She crouches next to him and runs her hands over his face. "You're alright, aren't you, Sherlock? The dog didn't touch you?"_ _

__Sherlock shakes his head roughly, tears streaming down his face. "It bit John! Look, it broke his leg!"_ _

__Mummy's eyes flick over the toy then, appraising the ripped seams. Her mouth twists in sympathy and she runs her fingers through her son's hair. "Don't worry, Hun. We'll sew him up at home and he'll be as good as new," she reassures him. "Come, we'll go now. Linda and I can talk more later."_ _

__They walk home, Sherlock holding John carefully in his lap, holding the rip closed so the cub doesn't lose more stuffing. Mummy takes him when they go inside and Sherlock watches attentively as she puts John back together with needle and thread. Sherlock bites his lip, hoping desperately that John can't feel it. Afterwards, Sherlock takes John into his room and strokes the cub gently, sniffling every now and then and hating Victor and his stupid dog. Under Sherlock's hands, the cub begins to stir. When he tries to move his left foreleg, his moan of pain nearly sounds human._ _

__"John, I'm sorry," Sherlock whispers, combing the fur on his back with his fingers. "That stupid dog bit you, but Mummy sewed you up." He checks the stitches - Mummy did a good job. The stitches are tight and neat and stay in even with John's material changed to flesh. They must hurt though, because when John shifts, he makes another distressed moaning sound. Sherlock's lips twist unhappily. He doesn't like hearing that noise. He's not sure how to make pain go away, but he remembers an image from a veterinarian book of a cat with its leg bandaged. "Stay here," Sherlock orders and runs out of the room._ _

__In the kitchen, he grabs a pair of scissors and takes them to the bathroom. He grabs a white towel and cuts off a thin strip. With the material in hand, he returns to his room and kneels on the ground next to where John lies on his bed._ _

__"This might hurt," Sherlock warns, "but it should help."_ _

__Carefully, Sherlock places the bear cub on his side and gently wraps the towel around John's shoulder, stitches and part of his leg, fastening the material with tape. It doesn't stop the pain, but this way the cub can't move the injured limb as much. John nuzzles Sherlock gratefully._ _

__"Don’t ever leave me," the boy whispers to the cub that night, when he thinks the bear is asleep._ _

__At midnight, when both of them are deeply asleep, the cub briefly changes into a human and then back again. In the morning, Sherlock has to refasten the bandage and neither know how it came undone in the first place._ _

__

__"Sherlock! What did you do to my towel?" comes Mummy's angry voice as John turns back into a toy and Sherlock's making his bed. She comes into her son's room and sees the stuffed bear with a strip of white cloth around its leg. "Did you destroy my towel to bandage your toy, Sherlock?"_ _

__Mummy is not pleased, but neither is Sherlock. "He's not a toy!"_ _

__Dad appears behind Mummy's shoulder. He sighs. "Sherlock, you can't cut up the towels, alright? Not even for an experiment."_ _

__"It wasn't an experiment!" Sherlock protests. "I was helping John."_ _

__"John doesn't need help," Mummy says, exasperated. "He's full of stuffing, not blood."_ _

__Sherlock isn't so sure, but when he tries to argue, his father interrupts. "Just don't do it again, okay, Sherlock?"_ _

__"Come to breakfast," Mummy orders, and Sherlock stomps out of his room, hugging John to his chest._ _

__

__“Your mother and I have decided that you’ll be going on a play-date,” Dad says as Sherlock stabs his scrambled eggs with a fork. “The Moriartys have just moved into the neighbourhood and they have a son your age.”_ _

__“They’re having other children over too, Sherlock,” Mummy adds. “You’ll meet some of the kids you’ll be going to school with.”_ _

__“They’ll be stupid,” he mumbles into his plate._ _

__“What was that?” asks Mummy._ _

__“Other kids are boring,” he says instead, remembering that he’s not supposed to say ‘stupid’. Which is stupid._ _

__Dad sighs. He does that a lot when Sherlock is being ‘difficult’. “Just give them a chance, son. Mycroft’s gone now, so you’ll need to make new friends.”_ _

__“John is my friend.”_ _

__“John is a toy. You’ll grow out of him eventually. And he’s to stay home today,” Mummy tells him._ _

__Sherlock looks up in outrage. “I shan’t go if John can’t come with me.”_ _

__Dad shakes his head, his lips twitching in what Sherlock thinks is amusement, but he doesn’t know what’s funny. “Shan’t,” he repeats. “What five-year-old knows the word ‘shan’t’?”_ _

__“Sherlock, John’s just for when you’re alone. You can’t bring him everywhere.”_ _

__Sherlock frowns and grips John tightly._ _

__“Oh, let him bring the toy. As long as he socializes, there’s no harm in. Not at this age, anyway.”_ _

__“William!” Mummy protests._ _

__But in the end, Sherlock puts up enough of a fuss that Mummy gives in, and it’s with John in his arms that Sherlock meets James._ _

__

__The parents introduce all the children (James, who just moved, Molly, a timid girl, and Gregory, another boy Sherlock’s age) and then the four of them are led into a toy room and left to their own devices._ _

__At first, Sherlock is intrigued by James. The boy is small for his age, and has intelligent eyes as dark as his jet black hair. Sherlock is interested by James’s collection of bugs, impaled in neat rows on white cardboard._ _

__“I got them all while they were still alive,” the boy boasts, grinning hugely._ _

__“That’s mean,” Molly says, and then bites her lip when James looks at her._ _

__“They’re bugs. They don’t feel anything.”_ _

__“I don’t know, I once squished a spider but didn’t kill it and its legs kept twitching,” Gregory put in._ _

__“Actually, when its leg comes off, the muscles keep twitching to distract predators, allowing the spider to escape,” Sherlock explains._ _

__“Ew,” mutters Molly._ _

__“Cool,” says Gregory._ _

__James doesn’t say anything, but he smiles at Sherlock as though he is impressed. It is clear that James is not dumb like other kids._ _

__However, when James tricks Molly into giving him her last graham cracker, and later provokes Gregory by telling him Molly took his toy car when really James had, Sherlock finds he doesn’t like the new boy as much. Yes, he’s smart, but he’s manipulative and cruel, as well. After Molly, tear stains on her face, and Gregory, still missing his car, are picked up by their parents, Sherlock knows James is evil when he takes John._ _

__“Give him back, James,” Sherlock demands angrily._ _

__“Why do you have this bear, Sherly?” James asks, smiling. “You’re so smart, we can be great friends, you and I. You don’t need a stupid toy.”_ _

__“He’s not a toy!” Sherlock protests._ _

__Frowning, James turns John around in his hands, carefully observing the cub. “He sure looks like a toy to me.” He unwraps the towel bandage._ _

__“Don’t!”_ _

__“Oh, he’s even stitched up. You really care for your pet toy, don’t you, Sherly?” James smiles again and tugs on John’s stitched up leg and laughs when Sherlock lunges for him. Quickly, James runs up the stairs, Sherlock racing after him, and throws John into his room before closing the door and standing in front of it, blocking Sherlock._ _

__“Stop it! John!”_ _

__“John can’t hear you, he’s a toy.” James rolls his eyes. “Maybe you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”_ _

__Sherlock pushes him when suddenly the door opens on its own. Both boys stare in shock as a naked boy is revealed, legs unsteady and eyes wide. His hair is a disheveled blond, his left shoulder has a red line running through it and his eyes are the rich blue of the sky just before nightfall._ _

__“Sherlock,” the boy gasps, and stumbles._ _

__Sherlock reaches for him automatically, and the boy hisses when Sherlock grips his injured shoulder too tightly._ _

__“John?” Sherlock inquires, disbelieving. “How – what?” John is shivering so Sherlock looks around for something to cover him with. He notices that James has disappeared. “Come on, John, let’s get you dressed and we’ll leave before he comes back.”_ _

__Quickly, Sherlock ruffles through James’s things and hands John some shorts and a t-shirt that look about his size. Once John has pulled them on, Sherlock takes his hands and leads him down the stairs, John getting steadier with each step. They reach the bottom and run out the door and down the gravel street. Sherlock keeps throwing John sidelong glances as they walk home, taking in the strange similarities between bear and human. John’s hair clearly matches his fur and his eyes are the same, but other things are familiar too: his ears stick out just a bit, his limbs are stocky, his tummy just a bit pudgy and his skin is the same golden colour as the cub’s muzzle._ _

__“What?” John asks at last, noticing Sherlock’s furtive glances._ _

__“You’re human!”_ _

__“I know, it’s weird,” John agrees calmly._ _

__Sherlock laughs. Mummy said John was brave and here’s the proof. “Come on,” Sherlock urges, taking his hand again and running the last little ways to his home. When they enter through the front door, they nearly collide with Mummy, who is preparing to leave._ _

__“Sherlock! What are you doing here, I was about to pick you up! And who’s this?”_ _

__Sherlock beams up at her. “This is John,” he states, pushing the blond boy forward a bit._ _

__“Oh? Did you meet at James’s? Where are your parents, John?” Mummy asks, kneeling down in front of the boys._ _

__“No, Mummy. My John,” Sherlocks corrects. When she looks at him blankly he sighs in exasperation. “Bear John!”_ _

__John smiles at her widely. “Sherlock brought me to life,” he explains._ _

__Mummy looks at them fondly. “Oh, you boys have such good imaginations.”_ _

__“It’s not – ”_ _

__“John, what’s your phone number so I can call your parents?”_ _

__John looks at her in confusion. “I don’t have a phone number.”_ _

__“Oh, well what are your parents’ names?”_ _

__John shakes his head. “Don’t have any.”_ _

__Mummy is frowning now. “I told you, he’s my bear,” Sherlock says._ _

__Mummy looks at them sternly. “Now, John, this is serious. Can you please tell me something about your parents? Or your address maybe?”_ _

__“I live here,” John says simply._ _

__Mummy sighs. “Sherlock, will you please take John to your room for a bit?” She doesn’t wait for a reply, simply turns and walks into the kitchen._ _

__Shrugging, John runs up the stairs and to Sherlock’s room without being led, the other boy following behind him. John jumps on the bed and smiles up at Sherlock, who stands there staring at him._ _

__“You said I made you human. How?”_ _

__John blushes and looks away. “You asked me to never leave you. If I stay a bear, I will have to leave you sometimes. I am anything you need, and when you needed me at James’s, it just sort of happened…” John shrugs._ _

__Sherlock purses his lips. “That doesn’t make much sense.”_ _

__“I guess it’s magic,” John beams, bright as the sun, and Sherlock can’t help but be drawn to him. John exudes happiness and warmth, and sitting there on the bed, he looks as cuddly as he did as a bear._ _

__Sherlock sits on the bed next to John and the smaller boy cuddles into Sherlock’s side automatically._ _

__“Just so you know, I love you, too,” John whispers shyly._ _

__Sherlock swallows uncomfortably even as a strange warmth fills his chest. “John, do you remember when you were a bear?”_ _

__“Of course. We played Pirates!”_ _

__“What about when you were… a toy?”_ _

__John looks quizzical, thinking hard. “I remember you speaking to me, sometimes. When you needed me most, then I remember things. Like James being mean.” He makes a face. “And the dog.”_ _

__Sherlock flinches. “Does your shoulder still hurt?”_ _

__“A bit. Mummy fixed me pretty well.”_ _

__Downstairs, the doorbell rings and the boys can hear Mummy answering the door._ _

__“Hello, officer… Yes, he’s upstairs.”_ _

__Sherlock frowns and gets up. He opens his bedroom door to see a police officer walking up the stairs._ _

__“Hello, Sherlock,” the officer says. “How are you?”_ _

__Sherlock eyes him suspiciously. “Fine,” he mumbles. “Why are you here?”_ _

__The officer smiles at him. “I’m here to see John. Could I speak with him please?”_ _

__Mummy is standing behind the officer and John comes to stand behind Sherlock. Mummy beckons to her son, but Sherlock frowns and stays where he is in front of John. Seeing Sherlock’s defensiveness, the officer kneels and looks at John over Sherlock’s shoulder._ _

__“Are you John?”_ _

__John nods, but says nothing._ _

__“And who are your parents, John?”_ _

__John shakes his head._ _

__“You don’t know?”_ _

__“Don’t have any.”_ _

__Sherlock knows how odd this sounds and as they’re talking, he watches another lady walk up the stairs. She’s not wearing a police uniform, but she has a badge, and on it are the name Cindy and the letters FRG._ _

__“What about your guardian, then? Any other family that takes care of you?”_ _

__“Sherlock takes care of me.”_ _

__Cindy steps up next to Mummy and murmurs to her: “Hi, I’m Cindy from Family Rights Group.”_ _

__Sherlock takes a step back, panicked. “John’s mine,” he says. “He’s my friend, he belongs to me.”_ _

__Mummy frowns at him. “We don’t own our friends, Sherlock. We just want to know who John’s family is.”_ _

__“He doesn’t have one! I’m his family.” He takes another step back and bumps into John, who grabs his hand._ _

__“Alright, calm down, son,” the officer says. “John, how ‘bout you come out with me and we’ll have a little chat in private.”_ _

__Sherlock pushes John back. “No, don’t go,” Sherlock hisses at him. “They want to take you away.”_ _

__“What?” John looks at him with wide eyes._ _

__“Sherlock,” Mummy says sharply. “You come stand with me this instant.”_ _

__Sherlock shakes his head, looking at her with wide eyes._ _

__“Maybe he just wants to talk,” John whispers to him._ _

__“This is ridiculous.” Mummy steps forward and grips Sherlock’s arm, tugging him from the room._ _

__“No, Mummy!”_ _

__Sherlock thrashes and sees John try to follow him, only to be blocked by the officer. John tries to push past the man, but when he struggles the officer restrains him._ _

__“John!” Sherlock shouts. “Change back! Bear!”_ _

__John just shakes his head, eyes wide with panic._ _

__Cindy goes to help the officer, blocking Sherlock’s view, as Mummy drags her son into Mycroft’s room, closing the door in his face. Sherlock tries the door, but the handle won’t budge. He hears John grunting and voices trying to soothe him, growing quieter as they go downstairs. After a minute, the front door bangs shut and Mycroft’s door opens, revealing Mummy’s sad face._ _

__After that Sherlock doesn’t see John for several months._ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Students, I’d like you all to welcome your new classmate. Would you like to introduce yourself?”
> 
> The boy mumbles something.
> 
> “A little louder, dear,” Mrs. Paul coaxes. 
> 
> “I’m John,” the boy says, barely audible, and Sherlock’s head snaps up so fast he feels a bit dizzy.

John’s first winter at the orphanage, he’s small and the cold makes his shoulder ache. He is gentle and quiet, and when the other kids steal his pudding or break his pencils, he lets them. Without Sherlock, he feels rather useless. He’s meant to be there whenever Sherlock needs him, and without Sherlock, who is John? 

In the beginning of November, when the paths are treacherous with ice and the new snow is sticky, an older boy throws a slushball aimed for John’s face. It misses and hits his left shoulder instead. The pain that explodes through his body is unlike anything he’s felt before, worse even than the dog’s teeth that caused the initial injury, and John slips on the ice, banging his knee hard. It’s deeply bruised, the doctor says, and will be sore for a while, but nothing serious. Yet as weeks turn into months, John’s limp does not go away and eventually, he learns to cope with it.

  


Sherlock’s first week at school, he refuses to play with James no less than three times. The week after that, Sherlock notices the other children throwing him dirty glances and avoiding him in the play centers. This doesn’t bother Sherlock, who thinks everyone is dumb anyway and would much rather sit by himself and read, but when, one day, Sebastian takes Sherlock’s snack, throws it to the ground and stomps on it, Sherlock can’t help but react.

“Hey!” he shouts, jumping up. “What was that for, you dumby?”

Sebastian sneers at him. “Don’t be such a freak, Sherly,” is all he says and runs away, joining James in the block center. 

James smiles at Sherlock when their eyes meet and Sherlock wishes John were there.

  


Sometimes, John feels Sherlock’s loneliness and boredom, his need for his companion, so strongly that John’s chest hurts. Some nights John can’t sleep through Sherlock’s sadness and stumbles around like a zombie the next day. The pull to be where John is most needed is strong and makes him irritable. He desperately wishes to be where he belongs, but instead he’s stuck at the orphanage, with other abandoned children. Multiple times John tries changing back into the bear, hoping to escape in his animal form, but even with all his will and concentration, he’s stuck in this human body. And as time passes, the cub’s playfulness and innocence inside of John fades away.

  


When Mycroft comes home for a weekend, he asks Sherlock where his bear is. Sherlock doesn’t come out of his room for the rest of the day and doesn’t speak for another two.

  


Molly and Gregory are the only ones that will talk to Sherlock, so he tries not to be too mean to them, but sometimes he can’t help it. When Sherlock’s sharp tongue sends Molly away crying, Gregory frowns at him.

“You shouldn’t be so mean, you know. We’re the only friends you’ve got.”

“I don’t have friends,” Sherlock mumbles. 

Gregory huffs and goes after Molly.

 _I’ve only got one,_ he thinks, picturing John’s beige fur.

  


After the Christmas break, Sherlock makes Sally Donovan cry and is sent home from school in the first week.

“This can’t keep happening, Sherlock!” Mummy exclaims when she’s forced to come pick him up. 

“Dull,” he mutters.

“How are you going to learn anything if you keep getting kicked out of class?”

“I don’t learn anything anyways. And Mrs. Paul hates me. She thinks I steal the class books.”

“What? Why does she think that?”

“James snuck a book into my bag one time and then told her he saw me take it.”

“Do not blame James, Sherlock. I don’t know what your problem is with that boy, but he has been nothing but kind to you, always inviting you over to play.” 

Sherlock rolls his eyes.

“And I’m sure Mrs. Paul doesn’t hate you.”

“She’s obsessed with cats, too,” Sherlock grumbles under his breath.

  


It’s the second week of January when Mrs. Paul stands in front of the class and introduces a new student. He’s small and bundled in winter gear, his face obscured by a scarf and his head covered by a bobble hat. In his right hand he grips a cane which he leans on heavily, though he may just be trying to put some distance between him and Mrs. Paul’s firm grip. Sherlock’s only half paying attention, reading the chemistry book he found in Mycroft’s room.

“Students, I’d like you all to welcome your new classmate. Would you like to introduce yourself?”

The boy mumbles something.

“A little louder, dear,” Mrs. Paul coaxes. 

“I’m John,” the boy says, barely audible, and Sherlock’s head snaps up so fast he feels a bit dizzy.

“Look at the cripple,” Sebastian snickers to James a row over.

“I know you’ll all be very welcoming to John,” Mrs. Paul says to the class. “Now, there’s an empty spot for you just there.” She points to the vacant desk next to Sherlock.

“Not only a cripple, Seb,” James whispers, shooting a nasty glance at Sherlock. “He’s a proper freak, that one.”

John hasn’t seen Sherlock yet, but Sherlock can’t look away.

“You know ‘im?” Sebastian asks his friend.

“Yeah, he’s a friend of Sherly’s.” 

Just as John’s about to pass by, James sticks his foot out into the aisle. Sherlock’s about to fly out of his seat, but stops when John suddenly halts and, with a casual gesture, thwacks James’s foot hard with his cane. James yelps a little and recoils, letting John pass.

“Oops, sorry. Don’t mind me, just a cripple passing through,” John mutters, and Sherlock barely contains his laughter.

“John,” he hisses, as his friend is settling at his desk.

“Mr. Holmes, the lesson has started,” Mrs. Paul warns.

Sherlock scowls, but not wanting another call home, remains silent. Instead he turns to observe John, who is removing his winter wear (his coat has cat fur on it from where Mrs. Paul’s cardigan rubbed against him) and staring at him in shock. Even as Sherlock takes in the cane, the ratty coat with holes in it and the pallor to John’s once golden skin, he can’t stop the huge grin that splits his face, joy filling his chest at the sight of his friend. John smiles back at him, not as innocent and gentle as before, but undeniably pleased to see Sherlock as well. 

As soon as the lunch bell rings, Sherlock is shooting questions at John: “Where have you been? No, which orphanage? What do you do there? Your clothes are old, do they treat you well? Why come here now? Did a family adopt you? What happened to your leg? Is it permanent? Did you miss me?”

John is laughing at him by the time Sherlock pauses for breath. “I missed you every day, Sherlock,” John tells him, very seriously, and that stops Sherlock in his tracks. “Did you miss me?”

Sherlock looks away. Nods.

John gets up carefully, using his cane to help. “The place I stay at is very boring, you would hate it,” John tells him. “And the doctors don’t know what’s wrong with my leg.” 

Sherlock frowns at John’s tone, which is not happy or warm. There is a new hardness to his once innocent friend, a self-awareness that wasn’t there before. Sherlock’s not sure what to make of it.

They eat lunch together and Sherlock tells John about the books he’s been reading, about the other students in their class and about the catalogue of footprints he’s been creating. So far, he knows the pattern of all the shoe soles in the class, including Mrs. Paul’s. John is impressed and says so often and Sherlock hasn’t smiled so much in ages.

It’s during outdoor recess that the bubble around Sherlock and John is popped by a snowball whizzing past Sherlock’s face. John reacts instantly, pushing Sherlock back and shielding him with his smaller frame. His face has gone terribly pale and his eyes are wide with fright. Sebastian stands in front of them, another snowball in his hand, James smirking next to him.

“What’s wrong, Johnny. Afraid of a little snow?” James leers.

“Piss off, James,” Sherlock replies, staying calm for John’s sake. His friend looks panicked for some reason, and if James or Sebastian bother John, Sherlock won’t care if his actions get him suspended.

“What a spaz,” Sebastian laughs stupidly.

Other kids are approaching now and Sally looks at John with worry. “John, it’s not too late. Get away from the freak and they’ll leave you alone,” she says beseechingly. 

John scowls at her. “Sherlock’s not a freak. And all of you are mean.”

Philip, who’s standing next to Sally, frowns. “Sherlock’s the one that’s mean. He says mean things all the time.” Sally and some of the other kids nod in agreement. Molly and Gregory are watching unhappily.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and has a retort on his lips when John speaks up again. “Sherlock’s very smart and he’s my best friend. He’s not mean on purpose and I’ll always be there when he needs me.”

John is shaking a bit in fear and cold, but he’s barely leaning on his cane and his voice is strong. Sherlock is struck speechless by his bravery and loyalty, and is shocked by the mocking laughter that meets John’s incredible words.

“John is a wonderful pet, isn’t he, Sherly?” James asks innocently and Sherlock tenses. The only thing stopping him hitting James is John’s steady warmth in front of him.

Sebastian jerks his hand forward then, pretending he’s about to throw the snowball before he stops, laughing at the way John flinches. At Sebastian’s feint, John’s right leg trembles slightly, and he grips his cane tightly. James’s eyes flick towards the movement just like Sherlock’s do, and when their eyes meet, James gives Sherlock a mischievous smile.

“C’mon, Seb, let’s go build a fort,” James offers, and as he leaves, most of the other kids disperse as well, only Molly and Gregory staying behind.

“Hi, I’m Molly,” the timid girl says softly. “That was really brave.”

“I’m Greg. Do you wanna play with us?” the other boy asks, smiling.

John hesitates, looking at Sherlock.

“Sherlock can play, too,” Molly says quickly.

John smiles then, some of the warmth and happiness from before shining on his face, and Sherlock can’t say no.

  


Every day after school that week, Sherlock insists John come home with him, and every time John shakes his head sadly. At first Sherlock thinks John is tired, or upset about school, but as John continues to say no, Sherlock thinks maybe John doesn’t want to be friends with the class freak after all. Sherlock’s hurt quickly shifts to anger, and the fourth day John shakes his head, Sherlock lashes out.

“Why not?” he demands petulantly. “Am I too much of a freak for you? Would you rather play with Molly or Gregory? Or _James_? Do you think he’ll be less of a bully if you follow him around like Sebastian does?” Because James’s taunts have been subtle but non-stop, snide comments in class and nasty threats on the playground. Sherlock has learned to ignore them, but he can see them getting at John, and it has the taller boy on edge.

John is looking at Sherlock with wide eyes, frowning at his outburst. “I’ll always be here when you need me most, Sherlock,” John tries to reassure him, but Sherlock, too smart for his own good, reads too much into his words.

“If you’re only here because you feel like you have to be, then I’d rather you play with someone else,” Sherlock says spitefully to cover his hurt and insecurity.

John jerks as if hit and his right leg trembles. He looks like he’s about to cry, but no tears escape his eyes. An unpleasant feeling unfurls in Sherlock’s tummy at the sight, so, annoyed, he stomps away towards his home, which is only a couple of blocks away. He stops after only ten metres, where trees give him some cover, and turns back to look towards the school. He watches John’s lonely figure, leaning heavily on his cane and shuffling his feet against the cold, and feels a pang of regret for his harsh words. But John is supposed to be there when Sherlock needs him, and Sherlock always needs him! So why won’t John come to Sherlock’s house with him?

As John stands there, apparently waiting, one of their classmates throws a snowball at another and John flinches as it flies past. Sherlock frowns, remembering his reaction when Sebastian pretended to throw the snowball at John, and the way James looked when John’s leg shook. Sherlock still doesn’t know how John was hurt, but his leg bothers him more whenever they’re outside. Not just outside, around snowballs. John said the doctors don’t know what’s wrong with his leg, which means it’s not really hurt. But why does it hurt him if there’s nothing wrong with him? 

An old, white car pulls up and John limps forward as a woman, an identification card hanging from a long strap around her neck, gets out of the driver’s seat to open the back door for him. She smiles at him briefly and says something, but John does not answer as he climbs in, head ducked down as if embarrassed. It’s as they drive away that Sherlock realizes how selfish he has been. Every day this week, Sherlock has been picked up by Mummy, leaving school before John does. Today, Mummy is busy so Sherlock is walking home. Now, watching John getting picked up by a lady from the orphanage, it’s clear that the only reason John does not come home with Sherlock is because he can’t. The people at the orphanage probably won’t let him.

Sherlock grits his teeth in frustration and runs through the snow all the way home.

  


“Mummy, can we adopt John?” Sherlock asks at dinner that night. He’s pushing his peas around his plate absently, already done mashing his potatoes with his fork.

“Who’s John?” Dad asks.

“Remember the boy I had to…call Family Rights Group for? He goes to Sherlock’s school now,” Mummy explains.

“Wow. Small world,” Dad mumbles around a bite of chicken. “Eat your dinner, Sherlock.”

Sherlock puts his fork down and crosses his arms. “I want John to live here.”

Realizing he’s serious, Mummy frowns at him. “You already have a brother, Sherlock.”

“Not like another brother. John’s my friend. And I want him here all the time.” 

Both parents are staring at their son. “Sherlock, be reasonable. We can’t just take the kid in.”

“Why not? You can afford it,” Sherlock points out. He knows that Mycroft’s school is expensive, he saw all the zeroes in the number on the paper with the school crest on it. And their house is big. And they have a nice car.

Dad splutters and Mummy shakes her head. “He’s not our child. We have two sons that we are _normally_ very happy with.” She looks at Sherlock pointedly. “And you don’t need to be with John all the time. You see each other at school.”

Sherlock scowls. Mycroft would understand. John is meant to be with Sherlock all the time! And he can’t be if he’s at the orphanage. “Mycroft would agree with me,” Sherlock mumbles.

  


The next day is Friday and when John walks into class, he is stiff and doesn’t look at Sherlock until, quietly and very quickly, Sherlock says: “I’m sorry.”

John turns his head sharply. “What?”

“I’m sorry I said you should play with someone else yesterday. I…didn’t mean it.”

Slowly, a smile splits John’s face, his tenseness quick to pass. “Really?”

Sherlock is helpless against his answering grin. “Of course. I’d be lost without my bear.”

John laughs and Sherlock feels warm.

At the end of the day, Sherlock hugs John because he knows they won’t see each other all weekend.

  


“He’d just gotten over that bear toy,” Mummy is saying quietly to Dad, her voice muffled through the oak door. “And now he’s obsessed with this John kid. We don’t even know where he came from! The officer said the boy didn’t know his own last name!”

“You have to admit though, Sherlock’s behaviour has improved since they became friends,” Dad replies, voice also hushed.

“Are they speaking of your John?” Mycroft whispers behind Sherlock.

With a gasp, Sherlock whirls from where he is eavesdropping through the kitchen door. He didn’t hear Mycroft, who is once again home for the weekend, come up behind him. His older brother smirks at Sherlock’s reaction.

Sherlock scowls at him before nodding. “Yes. I asked if we could adopt him.”

“Really?” Mycroft raises an eyebrow, a new talent he picked up from school. “Your bear means so much to you?”

“He’s not a bear anymore!” Sherlock whispers fiercely. “You said he’d come to life when I needed him most, and then he became human!”

Mycroft grimaces. “I knew it was a possibility, I just didn’t think it would actually happen.”

Sherlock gapes at him. “What? You knew –”

“It required a very strong connection to be formed and I…well, it’s done, I suppose. Do you wish for me to speak with them?” The way Mycroft talks is different now, and sometimes he looks down his nose at Sherlock as if Sherlock is too small for his full attention, but Mycroft’s offer reveals the care he still feels for his little brother.

Frowning, Sherlock nods. Mycroft is smart, their parents listen to him. Mycroft nods back once and pushes into the kitchen. Their parents’ voices cease immediately. 

“You always wanted three children, Mummy,” Mycroft says.

“Mycroft, we’re having a private conversation,” Dad rebukes him.

“Mycroft understands Sherlock better than we do,” Mummy says softly.

“Sherlock is lonely, he requires a companion. I used to fill that role, and when I left, I gave him the bear. Sherlock may have grown bored with the toy, but he still needs a companion.” Mycroft speaks with more confidence than an eleven-year-old should have. 

“Sherlock can play with John at school,” Dad says. “Like all the other children.”

“You know Sherlock is not like other children. He does not have friends, so his attachment to John must be a strong one.”

“It’s all he ever talks about,” Mummy agrees.

Mycroft is silent, letting his parents consider.

“What if John doesn’t feel the same way?” Mummy frets.

“John is an orphan. It would be a dream come true to live in a family such as ours,” Mycroft reassures.

There is silence again.

“We’ll think about it,” Dad says at last, but it sounds like ‘yes’ and Sherlock runs to his room before he is discovered, a smile plastered to his face.

  


On Monday, Sherlock is near bursting to tell John about the possibility of him becoming part of their family, but he stays silent, not wanting to get his friend’s hopes up in case his parents decide against it. Instead, he listens to what John did on the weekend, which is terribly dull (he did homework and he read), and he tells John about Mycroft’s visit, which makes him laugh (Mycroft tried tobogganing, hit a hidden rock, and ended up with a faceful of snow). 

It’s during lunch recess that James interrupts them. The winter air is fairly mild and the snow is sticky, perfect conditions for the snowball that the evil child throws at John’s chest. When the slush breaks apart over John’s coat, his leg gives out on him and he almost falls. Sherlock catches him as John leans heavily on his cane.

“The game is on, Sherly!” James crows and runs toward the snow fort that he and Sebastian built.

“John! Are you alright?” Sherlock asks, concerned and confused as to why John’s leg hurts.

John whimpers. “Sherlock –” he begins, but another snowball is hurled their way and Sherlock pulls John down.

Sherlock quickly begins building a wall of snow. “John, hurry and help me. If they want a snowball fight, this will be our only protection.”

John struggles to his knees. “Sherlock, I never told you.” Another snowball flies past and he flinches. “My leg hurts because I fell on ice when a big kid threw a snowball at my shoulder.”

Sherlock pauses in his construction to glance at his friend in surprise.

“My knee was only bruised, but it never got better. And now whenever there are snowballs…” John looks away, ashamed.

Sherlock thinks about John’s shaking leg and Sebastian’s snowball, John’s injured shoulder and Victor’s terrifying dog, and makes the connection. “Of course! I was so dumb, even James saw it!”

“What?” John asks.

There’s a hoot and a snowball hits Sherlock in the arms, one cold chunk sliding down his neck under his coat, and he scowls. Sherlock sets to building the wall again, urging John to help him. “John! Your knee isn’t really injured. When you hurt it on the ice, it was the pain in your shoulder that reminded you of Victor’s dog. You made a connection between a traumatic event and the pain in your knee, and now every time someone throws a snowball you’re reminded of it! That’s why it still hurts!”

John ducks as more snow is hurled their way and pats more snow onto their growing wall. It is now high enough to hide behind if they lie down on their bellies.

“That’s crazy!” John exclaims. “The doctors didn’t say that.”

“Your doctors were idiots,” Sherlock grins, and nudges his friend. “You just need to rewire your brain! Tell yourself that the pain in your shoulder has nothing to do with snowballs which has nothing to do with your knee, and you’ll be fine!”

John laughs. “Brilliant!”

“Can we help?” asks a breathless voice, and Sherlock turns to see Molly and Gregory crouching next to them. “James and Sebastian have Sally and Philip helping them and they have a bigger fort,” Gregory informs them. 

Sherlock glances across at the other wall of snow and sees at least two arms periodically throwing snowballs their way. And their fort is indeed impressive. 

“Yeah, sure!” John says, and Molly grins at him. 

With the four of them, their wall quickly becomes a veritable stronghold, three walls three feet high to protect them and a collection of slushy snow and perfect snowballs at the ready.

“Would you like to do the honours?” Sherlock asks, holding out a snowball to John.

John hesitates before taking the snowball firmly. He raises up on his knees to peek over the top of their snow wall. He ducks down as a projectile flies over his head, then quickly whips his arm around, releasing his snowball with a sharp flick of the wrist. Through the little hole in the wall, Sherlock watches as the snowball flies through the air and explodes onto Philip’s bobble hat. Sherlock, Molly and Gregory break into giggles and Gregory slaps John in the back.

“Beautiful shot, mate.”

John grins. 

After that, the game grows more intense. More kids join in, either building their own forts or joining one of the two main teams. Sherlock’s side gains three girls, Mary, Sarah and Soo-Lin, and two boys, Tommy and Angelo. James’s side gains four more players: Jeff, Irene, Andrew and Raoul. Sebastian has nearly perfect aim, but so does John, and the two of them seem to be getting the most hits. Molly, who doesn’t like throwing snowballs all that much, decides to make them instead and keeps a constant supply ready. Sherlock is trying to find weak spots in their opponents’ fort while cold projectiles sail through the air in all directions.

“Look out!” Gregory shouts, as three snowballs fly over their wall at the same time. They all duck to avoid the cold spray. Laughter comes from James’s fort. 

Sherlock peeks out the peep hole and sees a thinner section of the other fort. “John! See the spot right in the middle of the wall?”

John nods. 

“Aim for it. If you make a hole there the whole thing will collapse.”

John nods again and begins throwing snowballs at the same spot of the wall. On the fourth hit, one side of the wall collapses, revealing James. Instantly, a barrage of snowballs fly his way, and the boy yelps as he dives for cover.

“Nice!” Molly cries.

Sherlock and John grin at each other, turning back in time to see James stalk off the field. “He gave up!” John hoots. 

But the game is not over. With James gone, his team just throws even harder, nailing Mary in the shoulder and Angelo in the stomach when he’s not paying attention. Sherlock’s team responds, throwing faster and aiming better. 

Suddenly, a metal pole slams down between Sherlock and John, smashing into their wall and creating a huge gap.

“Hey!” Molly cries.

“What the heck!” Sarah yells.

James is standing there, lifting John’s cane for another wack. John gives an angry shout and tackles the other boy to the ground, the cane going flying. Sherlock quickly gets up and dumps snow on James’s face, snickering with glee when he squeals and wriggles against the cold liquid soaking through his clothes and down his neck. 

“You cheater!” Gregory calls James. “John beat you so you had to ruin our fort, too!” 

John gets off of James when the boy struggles. “Alright, alright! Get off me, you win!” James glares at Sherlock as he gets to his feet. “This is not over yet, Sherly,” he vows before stomping off.

Sherlock just rolls his eyes and turns to look at John, who’s grinning hugely. “What a psycho!” he exclaims and Sherlock laughs.

“And you beat him!” 

“ _We_ beat him,” John corrects.

“Hey, we helped!” Molly protests.

John gives a happy laugh, warmth and joy filling his face, and Sherlock thinks his heart might explode with the sight. They go back to the game, which they undeniably win, and when recess ends with the bell, Sherlock takes John’s hand as they go inside, the metal cane lying cold in the snow, forgotten. 

  


At the end of the day, when Mummy comes to pick him up, she says John can come with them.

“I spoke to Cindy, so the orphanage knows,” she reassures him.

Sherlock’s excitement is palpable, and John grins at his eagerness as they get into the car. When they get home, Dad’s waiting for them in the kitchen. Mummy sits the two boys down at the table and prepares them hot chocolate and cookies before sitting down as well.

“Sherlock, John,” she says. “Dad and I have discussed this at length, but we’d like to have John’s input. We know that Sherlock is all for the idea, but, John, how do you feel about becoming part of the Holmes family?”

John stares at them in shock. His cookie drops into his hot chocolate with a _plop_. “What?”

Dad smiles fondly. “We’d like to adopt you, John. I know it may seem sudden, and we really don’t know each other all that well, but you’re so good for Sherlock, and I’m sure that with time you can come to think of us as parents. Your parents.”

John’s eyes are teary, but he’s smiling when he looks at Sherlock. “Really? You want me here?”

“Of course, John, don’t be an idiot.” Sherlock’s words are tempered by the nearly painful smile on his face. 

John swallows thickly and looks back at Sherlock’s parents. “I’d like that. Thank you.” His voice is wobbly, but his eyes are sincere.

Mummy, tears in her eyes, gets up to walk around the table and pull John into a hug. Dad places his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock leans back into his father’s body heat, a subtle movement that nonetheless shows his gratitude, and his dad squeezes his shoulder in understanding.

  


They drive to the orphanage, because apparently there are ‘rules’ about this sort of thing. John can’t just start living with them, they have to fill out paperwork first. How dull. But Sherlock doesn’t want John to have to stay another night at that lonely place, so he doesn’t put up a fuss, goes almost eagerly, in fact. They’re about to walk into the building when Sherlock pulls John to a stop, letting his parents go in ahead of them.

“You have to pick a name, John,” Sherlock says, gripping John’s shoulders.

“John is my name,” he replies, brow furrowed. Sherlock watches the breath puff out in the air between them.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “No, a last name!” 

“Why can’t Holmes be my last name?”

“You’re not by brother, John.”

John looks away, hurt in his eyes.

“No. John.” Sherlock leans in closer, face serious. “You don’t feel like my brother, like Mycroft. To me you’re….more than that.”

John’s eyes, downcast, flash back to his. “Yeah?”

Sherlock inhales, breathing John’s condensed breath into his lungs. He nods.

John’s eyes flick back down before meeting Sherlock’s again. Suddenly, he’s beaming. “Watson.”

“Watson?”

John nods. “Your gloves.”

Sherlock looks at his gloves, at the brand name _Watson_ embroidered at the wrist, and laughs. “John Watson.” It…has a ring to it. “You are John Watson, the best friend of Sherlock Holmes.”

John’s smile is nearly blinding and Sherlock can’t resist pulling him closer, wrapping his arms around his shorter friend, whose stance is confident and whose posture is perfect.

“And I’ll be here when you need me most,” John mumbles into Sherlock’s neck, breath humid and warm.

“I’ll always need you, John.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

Sherlock can feel John’s smile against his skin. 

“Perfect,” John says.

Sherlock couldn’t agree more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! It's just a silly little thing, but I had lots of fun with it! Thanks for reading - I love feedback!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr! http://notesoflore.tumblr.com/


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